2013, There Will Be Blood

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• January 19, 2014

Oh, 2013. A year, overall, I won’t really miss, but also, a year that’s important for me not to forget.  If you’re reading this, I take it you’re really bored at your job or something.  And keep reading.  Because even though it starts kind of depressing, it gets worse when I almost die from a tonsillectomy.

2013 started bad. I had recently started a new job in real estate, and while I had some beginners luck, hurricane Sandy made a mess of everything.  So I wasn’t making money, it was hard to feel bad for myself when some of my friends homes were literally underwater.

Even though I accomplished some big goals in 2012 (did over 370 shows, paid off my student loans) I was getting panicky and afraid.  I was falling into what would become a three month depression. For three months, my days were filled with panic attacks that were so severe I would get physically sick. Eating was difficult because it would hurt my stomach, so I started getting thin.

I was unproductive at work, not growing as a comic, and my personal life was nonexistent, as I wanted nothing more than to just lay in my bed and die there.  But even sleep wasn’t restful.  I kept waking up, shaking and sweating, from terrible nightmares.  If you’re someone close to me, and you’re reading this, unaware I was in such bad shape last year, this is my fault.  It’s rare I let people in during my “down phases.”  Because, truth is, when I’m curled in the fetal position on my floor, there’s really no one that could walk through my door that I believe could help me.

The only hope I had is that I’ve gone through this before, so I had reason to believe it would pass. But after month two, I did try to get help.  This was a particularly long “down phase” for me, and it was killing me.  I was not successful in finding a therapist, and I ended up not taking the anti-depressant pills that were recommended to me by my doctor.

I felt like a real loser, and essentially, I was.  Everything I was writing was too depressing to use for anything but a suicide note.  Heart palpitations were a new thing added to things that happened to me during panic attacks.

I had a small revelation one day talking to my Uncle.  I was talking about how people usually see me as someone who has their shit together, but I was kind of a mess.  And he said, “well, who really has their shit together?”  In the that moment, I realized I had been so consumed by my own bullshit that I forgot that other people have their own bullshit.  And truth be told, it’s all bullshit.

Even though my mind was still a mess, it was time to face my bullshit and get my shit together. I needed money.  I couldn’t wait for commission from real estate, so I picked up extra work, some babysitting and housekeeping for instant cash. I needed to distract myself from myself.

By the end of March I was starting to feel a little better.  And I think the turning point of my year is when I went to the Laughing Skull Comedy Festival in Atlanta.

 A whale shark in the aquarium in Atlanta.

I was stoked to get into this festival.  All the shows I did were lots of fun.  I fell back in love with comedy, and made some new friends along the way.

The healing process was underway, just in time for Spring.  I felt myself returning to my abnormal normal self again. And I was having fun. Fun.  I missed that (not referring to the band Fun., here, though they’re pretty good).

Even though my funds were tight, I thought it would be good for me mentally and spiritually to return to Hawaii to visit my sister. Her fiancé and I planned my surprise visit.  When I showed up, my sister started crying, totally not expecting my visit.  She was going through her own tough times, and even though my sister and I are totally different, I think we both needed time together.

I wish that whenever myself or anyone got depressed we could always go to Hawaii and witness how beautiful the world truly is.  Everything about Hawaii is simply perfect.  Those majestic green mountains, the clear blue water, and the friendly sea turtles; I love it all.  Hawaii is the only place I’ve ever been to that I felt I could leave New York and be truly happy there.  And after a rocky start to 2013, I seriously considered relocating.  I wanted to call my mom and tell her put all my stuff in a box and send it here, to paradise.

I had a lot of time to think about this.  Surfing with sea turtles, snorkeling with sea life, hiking through bamboo forests to epic water falls.  Every adventure was yet another reason not to leave.  I felt like I belonged there.  This was a feeling that was foreign to me.

I couldn’t help but think about comedy.  Would I miss it?  I kept asking myself.  I’d sit on my surf board, drifting in the crystal blue water, gazing at the jurassic park mountains thinking; if you have all of this, will you still miss it?

After the fourth or fifth day, I did.  Because Hawaii had made me so happy, it made me want to do more things that made me happy.  And comedy had become not just a part of my life, but part of who I am.  I knew if I stayed, I would live in regret that I didn’t pursue my dream.

I returned to New York just in time for my 24th birthday.  I was feeling refreshed, but for the first time ever, I dreaded becoming a year older.  Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to be an adult.  Something was different now.  I didn’t celebrate my birthday.

 2013 Highlight, Paul McCartney live!

Even though things were getting better, no one could have foreseen what was to come next (except maybe my ENT who warned me of exactly what would happen).

I scheduled a tonsillectomy for June.  I had, for many years, been getting strep throat (accompanied with a double ear infection) three to four times a year.  Also, I have an allergy to medications, which was becoming a growing issue in treating my frequent strep throat infections.  I opted for the surgery.  I wanted it.  My ENT said upfront that as an adult, it’s painful, and you’re more likely for complications.  I have a high threshold for pain, so I wasn’t worried.  I figured a week of a bad sore throat and a liquid diet was a small price to pay to not get sick every few months.

So it goes.  Anesthesia. Surgery.  Cauterization.

It was painful.  But I dealt with it.  Took my liquid pain killer as directed, drank plenty of fluids, and rested.  I was only able to sleep in two to three hour intervals.  Once the pain killer wore off, I woke in pain, and couldn’t sleep till I was able to get the next dose in.

On the fifth day of healing, blood came out of my mouth.  We went to the ER.  It wasn’t long till the bleeding stopped, and I wasn’t in any more pain than usual, so after a couple hours I was discharged.

At this point, it was about 1AM, Father’s Day.  I returned home, laid down to rest, and then blood started coming out of my mouth again.  Because we’d just left the ER, we decided to wait it out a little.  But the pain was growing exponentially.  And I had just taken the pain killer.  The pain traveled to my ears, and in no time I was crying from the pain.

As if that weren’t torture enough, the blood flow out of my mouth slowly increased.  Then, I felt something at the back of my throat.  It was warm and mushy.  I gagged on it (which hurt like hell).  Something was stuck back there.  I started coughing, and then a blood clot the size of a golf ball shot out of my throat.

Back to the ER.

I was now experiencing some of the worst pain I’ve ever endured in my life.  Blood dripping from my lips.  I’m immediately re-admitted.  They call my surgeon (which, by the way, they should have done the first time).  I’m in a bed, propped up.  My dad is handing me paper towels that quickly get filled with my blood.  Every minute that passes the blood is flowing more profusely.  I’m crying, partly due to the pain, and partly because I’m horrified about the amount of blood I’m losing.

I start to gag.  Another one of these golf ball sized blood clots comes out of my mouth.  Then the blood starting pouring out like a faucet.  My dad has given up on handing me paper towels and just starts throwing them on the floor to absorb my pool of blood.

I’m screaming. My dad is calling for help. A nurse stops by and just says, “oh my, that is a lot of blood.”  But no one is coming to my side.  I continue to scream and  cry, my poor father helplessly at my side.  My whole body is shaking.  There’s so much blood coming from my face, it made a Tarantino movie look modest.  I wanted a shot of morphine.  Anything to stop the pain.  Please, for the love of god, would some one give me something for the pain.

I can’t honestly say how long this went on.  Too long.  It did slow down, and eventually stop.  My surgeon came, and he started shoving tools down my throat.  The pain was too much.  I literally grabbed his arm and pushed it away.  I would have to go back into surgery.  My face and hands were covered with dry blood.  My dad was looking pretty down, and I can’t imagine it was easy for him to watch is daughter go through that, so I managed to smile and whisper, “happy father’s day.”

Back to the operating room. Anesthesia. Surgery.  Cauterization.

They send me home that day.  I was feeling better (mostly because of the drugs). I was back home.  The pain was worse than before.  I could still only sleep a couple hours at a time.  I lost some weight and started to look skinny.  I figured the worst part was over.

Two days later, there’s a small amount of blood in my saliva.  Because of our very first trip to the ER, we didn’t think we had to rush to the hospital.  We waited through the night.  I sucked on ice throughout the night to try to stop the bleeding.  The bleeding increased, but it was still not much compared to the previous episode.  But every hour or so, I’d cough up one of those blood clots. Ugh.

When morning came, we decided to go to the hospital.  When I went upstairs to my room, I felt really dizzy.  I’ve never fainted before, but I’ve come close.  My dad came to my room to find me laying on my bed.  He asked what I was doing, and I told him if I got up, I was certain I’d pass out.

My dad helped me up and out the door, but by the time we hit the driveway, I lost consciousness.

Now, it’s important for me to state here that I am an atheist.  What happened next, I can only describe as the place your mind goes when you have a lack of blood to your brain.  But it was more than just a dream.  I was there.

I entered a strange place.  I was both freezing and hot at the same time.  I was naked.  There were mountains, pink mountains, covered in a white fur, and they swayed with the wind.  It looked like something out of a Dr. Suess book.  There was something there with me.  A creature.  Not human.  It was small, and roundish.  I knew it wouldn’t hurt me, but I didn’t want to look it at.  I thought, I have to get the fuck out of here.  And I came to in my dads car.

Back in the hospital, and I’m in bad shape.  I learned later, that a lot of blood must have been spilling into my stomach.  My body begged for sleep, but there was no fucking way I would let that happen.  Fuck those fluffy mountains, I’m not going back there.

My blood pressure was 70/30.  I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it wasn’t good, because a team of nurses started hooking me up to machines, IV’s in both arms (that took them several tries), they cut my shirt open, putting things on my chest, putting an oxygen mask on my face, and I’m freezing, shaking hard, so they cover me with blankets.

Once I’m stabilized, my only thought is, fuck, can this get any worse?  Then I saw my dad’s face.  He was standing at the foot of my bed with this look that I wish I could erase from my mind.  A look of fear and sadness, a look of a father who for a split second got a glimpse of what it might be like to lose a daughter.  I wanted to get up and hug him.  I wanted to tell him I was okay.  That everything was going to be okay.  I couldn’t, of course.  I couldn’t move or talk.  But I could not cry.  Don’t you fucking cry, I told myself.

When my surgeon came, I could tell by his face that even he was alarmed by my condition.  He took my vitals, and then he looked at my father and said in the most accusing way, “this just got serious.”  I wanted to jump out of my bed and punch him square in the jaw.  Don’t you fucking blame my dad, you prick.  I am giving you the middle finger with my mind.

How dare he blame my father.  I don’t blame my surgeon.  I don’t blame anyone.  I happened to be one of the unlucky ones with the worst possible complications.  Shit happens.

So, once again. Anesthesia. Surgery.  Cauterization.

I wake from surgery in a shit ton of pain.  They had to use a weaker anesthesia because my blood pressure was still low, so when I woke, I was feeling it.  I was shaking in my bed from the pain, unable to talk, crying, until they’re able to give me something for it.

I was in the hospital for a couple days after that.  I was in need of a blood transfusion.  Two units.  But my body was so weak, that the new blood burned going in.  It burned my whole fucking arm from the inside out.  They took it out and tried the other arm.  Same thing.  I’m trying to be strong, and not cry.  They call in a vein specialist, a lovely woman, who successfully got the new blood flowing through me without pain.  I was so weak and skinny.  I knew that if a zombie break out happened in that hospital, I’d be done for.  I could hardly stand.

The nurses kept asking about my sweet 16 and prom.  I didn’t realize it, but I was down about ten pounds.  I was looking really small.  I looked like a frail little kid, and I had just turned 24.

One night in the hospital, I was happy to wake up just in time to catch my buddy Chris Distefano on Letterman.  I couldn’t laugh, because it was too painful.  He killed it. I smiled, and I whispered to the nurse that he was my friend.  I think she thought I was high on drugs (in fairness, I was), but it made me excited to get better and get my voice back.

All in all, the tonsillectomy put me out of commission from everything for a month.  I couldn’t talk.  So I was stuck in my own head, which was a dangerous and dark place.  I found myself slipping back into a depression.

The day I went to the doctor and he said I was good to go (relatively) back to normal, I went to the beach to go for a run.  For July and August, I went to the beach almost every day to run or to surf.  Because of hurricane Sandy, Robert Moses became a prime surfing spot, and throughout the summer, I’ve never seen Long Island’s ocean so clear.  There were days where you could actually see almost ten feet down.  Stunning.  One day, I even saw dolphins.

September brought a new adventure and highlight to my year.  I went to Ireland with my good friends, and great comics Mick Thomas and Tim Gage.  I was nervous about how my comedy would be received in another country, but every show we did was better than the last.

We got to perform in Wexford, Belfast and Cork.  I spent a day in Dublin, drinking my favorite drink, Guinness, at it’s place of origin.  The Irish were so cool, and welcoming, it was impossible not to love them.  This is also where I met the super cool designer of this website, Niall Reck of Graphedia.

Venue in Belfast.

Come October, I’m loving life.  I’m really happy again.  I’m always sad to see the summer go, but alas, autumn brings new beauty to New York.  I’m loving the trees, and every night there seemed to be a sunset that was so colorful and amazing, that I would just smile. 

In October, we started production of a script I wrote, “Honest Living.”  A sitcom about petty con-artists.  My fellow cast members, Dennis Rooney and Tim Thompson were hilarious.  And my director, John Trueson is great at encouraging me when I start getting down on myself.  It will be completed early 2014.

Halloween came, and it was so much fun (I was Lisa Simpson).  My friends wanted to go to a posh club.  A place where people dress slutty and take themselves too seriously.  Not my scene.  But my neighbor and childhood best friend (who was dressed as a wet tee-shirt contest winner) had a blast, as we took over the dance floor, and I continuously violated his oversized pillow breasts (alcohol was involved).

In November, I was really stoked to get into the Boston Comedy Festival.  I had never been to Boston, and not only is it a city rich in our nations history, but also it’s a city that has produced some of my favorite comics.  The show was such a good time, and I made some new friends.

 This is a pub where our founding father’s conspired, and where I got pretty drunk (it’s what the founding fathers would have wanted).

The winner of the contest, Alingon Mitra, won $10,000.  He decided to donate half, and divide the rest among all the comics in the festival.  This was really cool and inspirational.

So now it’s December, and I’m pretty happy to say good-bye to 2013.  I love Christmas.  It’s my favorite holiday.  I especially love Christmas in New York.

Christmas time, if nothing else, is a time to appreciate and be thankful for what we have.  So yeah, I had a rocky year.  But there are a lot of people who have it worse.  I have a great family, and amazing friends.  Learn from the bad, but don’t dwell. And guess what?  Six months and counting without strep throat.  That’s a record.

It’s time to move on. So…

2014, I’m gonna make you my bitch.